It’s waiting for me—that familiar darkness. It is never fully out of sight. Like a shadow it follows me—most visible when life (like the sun) is most bright.
And even in my resisting, I am actually just easing into it—slipping it on. That well-known gloom engulfing me like a well-worn robe—so tattered it’s cozy—a discomfort that feels like home.
I have already waded in. Its subtle undertow has taken hold. Everything is work—like walking through deep water. There is nowhere else to go.
That familiar darkness has come for me, and (like a child with separation anxiety) I don’t want to go.
I know that I will survive—perhaps even learn and grow. But I don’t know how long the tunnel is. And I’m still afraid of the dark.